All my herbs and vegetables have sprouted, now, with the exception of the peppers.  I am only numb or else in a state of parasympathetic shutdown. Remembering  four summers ago, the distance between West and Jefferson just over three miles. I cried. I stumbled down the sidewalk, begging for love to answer on speed dial. Remembering last summer on a friend’s bathroom floor. I cried. I called on repeat, pressed a blue marble in the palm of your hand and begged: please don’t forget me. At a punk...